Celestial Rebirth
by Ar-Kaos
Summary: Fantasy story. Doom for the northern colony. Nowhere near finished, but would appreciate some feedback (even if its to go back to writing Ranma), please give reasons


Chapter1

Overhead winter white buzzards circle lazily. Below a scene of death can be observed. A caravan has been attacked, white clad bodies lie strewn about, carrion birds settling on them even now. The wagons lie looted and wrecked the passengers and crew strewn around like discarded dolls. Intermingled with them are the bodies of the short blue-grey, fur wearing goblin-kin that attacked. Even the draft animals lie dead, pieces of them hacked off and taken away. As another bird lands a small cloud of lies rise from the corpses. Suddenly there is a new noise, a groan, shortly followed by a scream. Slowly and painfully one of the bloodied figures rises. She is below average in height but broad shouldered. Her long black hair frames her slender elven face, a face than currently is marred by a large blood smear. She is wearing a bloodied long white robe with grey edgings, the uniform of her order. At her waist is a broad sword belt, currently hanging empty but for a finely tooled scabbard.

The woman swears an elven oath, not the sort of thing you would hear in polite company, and moves to the nearest body. It is one of their attackers, a wide slash across his chest and a hilt sticking out of his belly indicating why he was unable to flee. She reached down, visibly suppressing a shudder of revulsion and pulled a short blade out of the creatures, guts. She gingerly wiped the blade clean on the filthy leggings of the late attacker and proceeded to begin checking on her co-travellers, face stern.

Unfortunately one of the goblin-kin had suffered a similar fate to her. As Atlanta checked the cooling body of the caravan master the creature leapt to its feet with a snarl. It was three feet to the shoulder and all menace. Its yellowed fangs protruded from its mouth like discoloured worms and its gnarled hands were drawn back into claws. Cold-hateful intelligence shone in the creatures bloodshot eyes, now narrowing slightly in preparation for a new attack. It screamed something in a language that was all its own and hurled itself at the elven girl. She swung her sword and it dodged back, narrowly avoiding losing its jaw. Atlanta's shock numbed mind was trying frantically to remember the lessons she had been taught, gone was the flippant 'sharp end in other person" instead a dozen well rehearsed moves jumbled themselves into her mind. Then the creature was daring at her again, this time she stepped back, assuming an 'on guard' position as she had been taught all those years ago. The creature seemed momentarily baffled but charged it anyway, claws reaching for purchase, mouth drawn wide eager to bite into her flesh. She stabbed forwards, both hands locked on the hilt of the blade. The short sword bit deep into the creatures shoulder, parting muscle and notching bone. The shock went straight up her arms and made her drop the weapon. All of a sudden she was knocked to the floor. Far from being felled by her blow, it seemed that she had only managed to enrage the goblin-kin. Now, as it raked at her face and body with its clawed fingers and gnashed its salivating maw at her she finally panicked. She lashed at it, punching and kicking, thrashing about in an attempt to drive the savage thing off of her. Suddenly she succeeded, her hand locked around the hilt of the short sword and pushed. The creature howled its agony to the sky as she turned it onto its back, thrashing in pain as she pushed the balde through its shoulder and into the earth below. Even as she leapt clear its thrashings diminished and its cries were reduced to whimpers. She looked around her for some way to end the problem and came up with nothing. So she went back to the beast, and kicked it in an extremely unladylike place. When the beast only twitched she dropped down next to it and fixed her hands onto the sword hilt fixed in its shoulder. She pulled the weapon free and with a grunt drove it back into the filthy animal's chest. With barely a whisper the creature breathed its last. Atlanta pulled the blade free again and returned to her work of searching for survivors.

By nightfall it had rapidly become apparent to Atlanta that she was the only one alive out of the caravan, all her brothers and sisters being accounted for, or at least most of them, more than one body was missing some of their softer parts. Only a miracle seemed to have saved her, and she swore to give thanks for that miracle with the coming of the dawn. Right now she had to concentrate on remaining alive. Already the temperatures had dropped to near freezing and she was more than a little scared of lighting a fire in case it drew the beasts back. As soon as the first wolf howled she rapidly changed her mind and put together a bonfire.

The night passed in nervous wakefulness, cold and fear keeping the girl awake despite her weariness. When the dawn came her already slightly blue tinted skin had paled further and she was shivering uncontrollably. Her right fist was clenched tightly about the hilt of her recovered short sword and her teeth were chattering. Routine more than rational thought made her prepare for the morning ritual, and this enforced movement probably saved her life. After her prayers she stirred the fire back to life and salvaged enough to make a oat broth, again more because it was what she normally ate rather than out of any thought of survival. The water in the broth was the next step in saving her life even if she did not know it, dehydration being a more dire peril than cold.

Atlanta spent the next day trying to gather the things she would need for the long journey to the caravan's destination, the distant city of Northport. The most troublesome decision was whether to carry the heavy box that the abbess had entrusted to the caravan. On one side it was a sacred trust on the other the box would weigh more than anything else she would be carrying. So she sat down and looked at it, it was a large chest, metal bound and sealed with symbols of the order, she had already shaken it and could honestly say she had no idea what lay inside. This final fact was what finally made up her mind. Atlanta found a metal bar and a big rock and set to pounding the box open. First she tried the smart way, smashing the hinges and then after a fruitless hour she snarled ion frustration and attacked the box lid instead, just intent on damaging the annoyance. As it happened this worked far better and within another hour she was able to bash, twist and brutalise the lid of the box aside and reveal the contents that had cot them so much. It was a rather unremarkable set of steel bracers and a bundle of letters. Just in case Atlanta rechecked the box for secret panels, with her rock and chisel, but found nothing. She then settled in for another freezing night near the attack site and determined to set out in the morning.

After her morning prayers and a heavy breakfast Atlanta set off once more, heading for the distant city and safety. She was carrying a heavy pack and a lot of water but was soon painfully aware that she should have done more about her shoes. The soft boots had been eminently suitable for the abbey and even the caravan trip but after the first day of walking she could already see that they were not going to last the pace and she was developing blisters like she had never had before. This caused yet another round of very un-ladylike swearing. A sudden crazy thought struck her, that of her old governess seeing her sitting here muddy, bloody and blistered, swearing like a trooper. The thought made her laugh out loud, she could almost hear the woman scolding, "You are a princess of the blood, what sort of way is that for you to behave? I swear if you spent as much time with your needlework as you do causing trouble you would be famous by now!" Oh how Atlanta hated needlework. Nothing had made her more desperate to leave the elven confines than needlework. Ever since she was tiny she had listened to her uncle's tales of adventure and exploration, stories of dragons and humans, dwarves and orcs. She had thirsted for the dirt and danger, lusted after the far horizons and eventually she had gone to find them. She could still remember the day she had told her father, he had been livid, it was normal enough for young elves to go 'wilding' as they called it but he had never wanted to see her as anything but the sweet little girl her mother had died giving him.

The first adventures had been disasters, she had travelled to the new human colony of Northreach and, with her friends, set off to find fame and fortune at the edge of the descending glaciers, where the ruins of an ancient civilisation could still be seen, and reached if one was brave enough to venture into the crevasses. Her friends had been rash, and she had been one of the worst, her temper leading her to ignore advice given because of its source. The core of their group was a man at arms that her father had assigned, an elf by the name of Tantalas, he was steady and sure, a veteran of his own extended wilding. But Atlanta hated him with a passion, he shamelessly seduced girls everywhere they went, and made no attempt to hide this activity from her or her group. He seemed far more intent on whiling his time away in taverns and inns than in exploration and quests. Worst of all he was almost constantly patronising, treating her like a little girl he was responsible for.

They had found an entrance into one of the ruined towns of the fallen empire; they had even started to gather some worthwhile loot when everything changed. From nowhere a monster that seemed a cross between a centipede and a lizard erupted. It was an easy nine feet long, shaded blue and black, and more viscious than anything the friends had ever met before. Tantalas had swung his sword at it, drawing a little blood but in the minutes than followed the creature destroyed much of Atlanta's idealism. Her friends had all been good people but with single rakes of its razor claws it was laying open their bodies from gut to throat and spilling their vitals across the icy floor. Together they drove the beast away but none of them survived the encounter without at least one lick of its teeth or claws. Atlanta lost three friends that day, right in front of her eyes, and two more were to follow over the next few days, mortification setting into their injuries and blood poisoning driving away first their minds and then their lives. The trip back to the village they started from took five times as long as the trip out and cost Tantalas all the fingers on his left hand. Of the seven of them that had ventured into the ruins only three made it back to town and none of them had spoken to another since. The recriminations had been bitter and hateful. The close bond of shared danger that Atlanta's uncle had so idealised was lost in the harsh reality of shattered dreams. Atlanta had lost herself into a spiral of drink and violence, until one day when a nun had stepped in and called her away.

So her adventures had led her to an even more cloistered existence than she had known as a child. But her aching heart had slowly recovered and now she was back on the road she found that she was actually enjoying the challenges again and more than a little of the old excitement was threatening to return. As she relaxed by her fire the melancholy that had descended on her after the fight was being replaced with relief for her continued survival and a growing sense of satisfaction. She had survived after all, she had fought and killed at least one of the beasts and now she was once more on the road to the far horizon.

-

Northport, at once a den of the filth and scum that collected on the edges of civilisation and the shining heart of the new colony of the Celestial Empire. When the imperials had arrived it had been little more than a fishing village eking out a living on crabs and seasonal whaling. Now the city was a bustling metropolis. Stone walls ringed it and defended its harbour. A stone citadel was being constructed to replace the former wooden one and serve as a visible reminder of Imperial law. The port was crammed with vessels large and small, everything from tiny fishing sculls to the warship 'Emperor's hand' that towered above the military wharf. Smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys, set into a panoply of varied housing. From the domed roof of the Southern Emirs to the long lodges of the Northfolk all races of man had sent envoys to this frostbound haven, all in search of the wealth that sprung form the whaling trade and the looting of a lost peoples. Where peoples went the law soon followed, and with the law came soldiers. At every gate a garrison had been built and blue clad soldiers could be seen patrolling the city.

Corruption, as ever, had followed in wealth's wake and the city could be easily seen to be divided into upper and lower quarters with proportionate division of wealth. The patrols were limited to the upper city and the money that was put aside to keep the walls rapidly found its way into other purses. The neglect and disorder had been quietly driving business elsewhere for the last few years and Northport's fleeting prosperity seemed already to be looking elsewhere. Where Imperial law failed other forms sprang up and what had been lost through neglect rapidly became unattainable because of vested interests. Now the streets of the lower city were ruled by the gangs and they in turn owed allegiance to the gang bosses, men who made their homes on a road called the street of palms.

Into this mess walked a lone woman, her robes greyed and ragged at the edges, but her blade and build enough to discourage most opportunists. Atlanta, hardened by her long trip had finally found her way to Northport and to the street of palms in particular. She was looking for a place that the wagon master had spoken of and a man that he had praised. Following directions given to her at the gate she had found the place 'The Great Oak Inn' and steeled herself to find the man. The great oak was a gem amid the rough. It's front was clean and well kept and the smells that wafted from it were an unwelcome reminder of her hunger.

She entered, the room was mostly well lit, with darker areas for those who preferred anonymity. Music was being provided by a dark haired minstrel in one corner and a bevy of buxoms were working the floor keeping the punters well supplied with drink. A long bar dominated one side of the room, and behind it stood an oddly proportioned red faced man. Atlanta moved towards him with a confidence that was half hunger and half dog-tiredness. As she arrived she noticed two things, firstly that there was a map of the empire painted on the wall behind the bar and second that the odd man's frame was different because he was a halfling, a halfling standing on a raised floor behind the bar.

"Good evening your ladyship," the halfling bowed, "Welcome to the Great Oak. My name is Falstaff Rotundus and you have but to ask." Impressed by the man's manners she smiled and rested her heavy pack on the floor.

"Good evening Mr Rotundus," she replied with equal formality, "right now what I really need is a seat, a bath and some food."

"Allow me your ladyship," he replied, bowing again, "I'll have Brandybuck take your bag to your room and if you will take a seat then I will have some dinner sent out to you." She smiled gratefully and took a seat near the middle of the room at an empty table, wearily slumping down and allowing herself to relax her tired shoulders. As a blond haired, busty wench arrived with food and a goblet she stopped her. "Excuse me I'm looking for a man" she began.

"You an me both luv," the barmaid replied, "Though with a face like yours I shouldn't imagine you'll have much difficulties"

"That's not what I meant" replied Atlanta, temper flaring a little.

"If you say so luv," replied the girl, "but the way it looks from here you could use a good sortin'" Atlanta was so shocked by this that she didn't have time to reply before the woman had left towards another table and the ribald men that occupied it. The loud laugh that followed her arrival set Atlanta's blood boiling again. Nevertheless food won out over anger and the elven girl rapidly dug into the steaming bowl of stew. It was heavily spiced and a little too hot but beat the oats that she had been subsisting on for the last few days by quite a measure. As the warmth of the food and wine spread through her system she allowed herself to drift off, carried away by the music and congenial atmosphere.

Suddenly she was startled out of a doze by a man sitting down at her table. "Hello beautiful," he said with a southern accent, "you don't mind me joining you do you?" he asked brooking no refusal. He was the minstrel from the corner, on closer reflection a very handsome half-elf with a charming smile. He had the air of an experienced ladies man, and reminded Atlanta of another like him from years ago, by the name of Tantalas. In short the elven girl took an instant dislike to him, and as he proceeded to do his best to charm her it only got worse. Just at the point where she was considering punching him just to shut his overactive mouth he finally took a breath. It took her a few seconds to realise that he had asked her a question.

"So who're you looking for?" he repeated.

"Someone called Arakos the Axeman," she replied, remembering what had brought her here in the first place. "I was told that I might find him here" she added, trying to prompt an answer.

"You're out of luck gorgeous," he replied, "he's off hunting some poor sod down at the moment. But what would you want an ugly bastard like him for when you can have someone as talented and handsome as me?" his own arrogance was already leaving a bitter taste in her mouth and she was about to reply when he cut her off. "So do have any requests?" he asked and then leant in close "that I can do in public" he whispered. She grabbed her bowl to belt him but he was gone before she could make her swing.

"Sanctimonious shit!" she swore, slamming the bowl back onto the table. She signalled for another drink and went on muttering about how life just seemed to want to crap on her recently.

Her tirade was interrupted by the appearance of a different halfling. The small man bowed deeply and smiled as he straightened. "Your baff's ready missus" he said with that big smile of his. Atlanta crushed down the tiny sense of unease and hurried after the man to her room. Her gear had been unpacked and a hip bath stood steaming next to the bed. The halfling bowed and left and she wasted no time barring the door and puling the shutters. Within less than a minute she was sitting in her own little slice of heaven.

Atlanta had always had an affinity for water, it came with the blood, but hers went just that little bit further. Most of the trouble she had been in as a child had involved swimming in places she shouldn't have been, often in attire that her governess paled at. Even sat here in her bath the furious look on Lady Abomove's face added just that little bit more joy to Atlanta's life. Eventually she scrubbed herself clean, washed her hair and debated getting out of the cooling water. She only made the decision when the water started to let some of the chill back into her bones. After drying herself off she took one look at the grimy clothes that were all she had to wear and decided not to dress for the night, something she would later have cause to regret. Instead she hung her sword from the bedpost, hid the bracers under her spare pillow and snuggled down to sleep.

-

She was awakened in the middle of the night by her a hooded form appearing at the foot of her bed. It was huge and blacker than the rest of the nighted room. It was also armed, a broad bladed machete shining in the moonlight. She quelled a scream and reached for her blade. Only to be roughly grabbed by the shadows other hand and pushed back into her bed. He was very strong, and his smell was stronger.

"BE quiet!" the shadow commanded with a odd guttural whisper.

"Like hell!" she replied and gathered a breath to scream. He jammed a calloused hand into her mouth and cut off the attempt. She bit, and bit hard. And she tried to hit him with her free arm. He grunted as she connected.

"Stop that ya nutter!" he whispered "You'll have 'em all in here early"

"'uck yu!" she replied and bit again. Which is when the door was kicked open and more shapes rushed in bringing light with them. In her sudden dazzlement Atlanta heard more than saw the first figure take the other three down, fast, hard, and wetly. By the time she could see her huge dark visitor had crouched down near the door, his left hand reaching out to check the three bodies one by one. She reached out again and pulled her blade. He froze.

"Are yer gonna try an kill me agin?" he asked in that guttural voice.

"Maybe" she replied, "and definitely if you turn around before I put some clothes on." He stayed still, digesting the implications. "Meantime you care to tell me what in Trench's name is going on here!"

"When did this become my fault?" he whispered

"What?" she asked indignantly

"We really should be leaving now," he replied.

"Why?" she asked temper rising.

"Cuz I just killed three of Braken's favoutite thugs and he has lots more," the man replied.

"So what has that got to do with me?" she demanded.

"They were coming to grab you for his brothel," the intruder supplied. "Can we go now?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Cuz you're pretty an you got no friends," he supplied, moving to look into the corridor crouched low. Suddenly he rolled left and hit the floor. A crossbow bolt flew past his head and went through the weak wall behind. He was up seconds later and charging. Before the crossbowman could reload the big man had swept his blade across his throat and pushed his falling body over the banister towards the room below. Atlanta had come out into the corridor behind, wearing her cast off tunic, and was now standing ready with her blade. "No good" the man grunted, "we'll have ta go out diffren' way." She looked at him then looked at the door opposite hers. He nodded, she kicked he door in. Inside a man was hiding from the rukus, he had a knife drawn and a very confused expression on his face, it wasn't every night a beautiful elven maid hastily dressed in very little broke into his room.

Her new compatriot went over to the small window, pushing the man out of the way out of hand, and looked out. "Good" he said "get your gear." She looked at him askance but moved to obey. As she stuffed her bag he grabbed the man and pushed him headfirst into the wall, under the window. By the time she came back to the room there was a sizable hole in the wattle and daub wall and blood running from the room's owner's head. Her companion dropped him and tore the last few chunks out with his large hands. She moved to help, only then did she get another whiff of his distinctive smell.

"You stink!" she said, he stopped looked at her, sniffed a bit and nodded.

"Yup" he said "that is an acc-ur-ate-amificte assess-imification." It was her turn to stop?

"What?" she queried, trying to work out what he said.

"Wassamatter" he asked, still pulling at the wall, "ain't you got no edu-mification" he sounded somehow smug.

"Eduaction?" she asked shaking her head, "who taught you to talk?"

"Went to college" the figure said.

"What the hell is college?" Atlanta asked.

"Rhonia Rhubarb's College for young Laides" the companion grunted before forcing himself through the hole, and dropping to the street.

"If he's a lady I'm a dwarf!" she swore before following. At the end of the street another cloaked figure stood with four big horses, her companion was loping towards him and as soon as they were seen the figure led the horses towards them at a jog. Her companion swung into one saddle and they clearly expected her to do the same. She tried as best she could but there was a reason she walked to Northport, she really hated horses. After two attempts the figure from her room swung his horse around and lifted her into place, while hanging off the side of his own horse like he was glued there.

As soon as they were all mounted they rode off into the night streets. The huge night visitor in the lead. They rode to one of the city's gates, which stood suspiciously wide and through it they clattered into the wide darkness beyond. With no light to guide them they followed the muddied road for what seemed to Atlanta like hours before branching off at a stream and riding down it. The trees lashed at them in the darkness and the cold wind chilled hr to the bone. Just when she thought that they were going to have to ride all night they came to a stop, with her elven vision, even shortened as it was in comparison to her more land-based brethren, she made out a squat farmhouse. The others dismounted and she followed suit. She saw both her companions pulling packs from their animals and she suddenly wished she had had the forethought to put her own over her horse rather than keep it on hr back. The man who had held the horses in the street led the horses away into a barn. The other pushed open a door and went into the room beyond. With a shrug, again she followed.

Inside the cloaked 'rescuer' was starting a fire in a small hearth. The interior was as rustic as she had seen. The floor was earthen, a pen was in the corner for animals the roof turf, and there was only one large stack of straw for bedding and one stool for furniture. The room smelled of animals and smoke, it had obviously been recently vacated.

"Hurry up with that" she ordered. She vaguely heard the large man mumble something about "bossy damn women" but chose to ignore it, in favour of standing near the burgeoning fire. The door opened again and a cold draught blew in along with the third of their little posse. The man stopped and pulled back his hood, it was the minstrel creep from the bar. "You!" she accused "what the hell do you think you are doing here?" she demanded. He looked genuinely hurt. Behind her the large one was laughing a deep grunting laugh.

"Told you she wouldn't!" the big man laughed. She whiled on him, eyes blazing "And you!" she began rounding on the big man. "Just who the hell do you think you are bursting into my room in the dead of night! I cold have killed you!" this time it was the minstrel's turn to laugh

"You kill Arakos?" he laughed "Yeah right?" she laid him out with a straight arm that came from the bottom of her anger. He was rolling around clutching his bruised jaw, with spots in front of his eyes. As she whirled back at Arakos he held up his hands.

"He said it!" he said pointing at the man on the floor. Her temper was still burning bright and she was looking for targets. She reached up and snatched back his hood, only to come face to face with a full-blooded black orc. His skin was charcoal black, his eyes blood red, his night black hair was tied in a topknot with a leather thong and his mouth an array of sharp teeth and tusks. Her shock was profound. He tried to crack a smile; it had the effect of showing more teeth and tusk. "Trench!" she swore.

"Pleased ta meetcha too!" he said with irony.

"You're a mud-loving orc!" she blurted in her native elven. The other two looked at each other and then back at her.

"Sounded a bit like elven" said the minstrel.

"I wonder why that was," she said sarcastically.

"Cuz yer an elf" replied Arakos helpfully, missing the sarcasm. She looked at him for a moment and then decided that yes he was that dumb.

"I'm a Sa-Telquassir, sea-elf in common," she insisted, "see blue" she said pointing to herself and speaking as if to stupid children. The two of them nodded as if she had just explained the secrets of the universe. Then the minstrel walked over and threw a deep bow, exaggerated and with added flourishes.

"I am Quicksilver, David Quicksilver, minstrel par excellence and lover without equal," he pronounced, adding a wink at the last. "and the ugly guy in the corner is –"

"Arakos the Axeman" she interrupted " I got that, some of us can think above the waist" giving Dave a look of scorn. "What I do want to know is what the hell I am doing here!"

"That's your fault!" Arakos insisted. Dave held up his hand

"Allow me, my good friend" he said, "I shall pu the story to song and serenade the good" then he caught the look on her face and changed what he was going to say "or then again I could just tell you"

"Please" she insisted.

"Well it goes like this," Dave started, "Falstaff Rotundus works for a dwarf by the name of Braken. Now Braken is a very bad dwarf, if there is a crooked scam going he's probably running it. The day the world ends it will probably be because he called in the mortgage."

"Get to the point" she threatened.

"err yes, anyway. Falstaff steals people for him. You turned up alone, late and ignorant, so someone was going to mug you or worse and he saw an opportunity. They were gonna wait till you were good and under and then whoosh you'd be gone for good!" he explained with hand movements.

"There's a big market for purdy girls out east" Arakos added, "specially ones wiv pointy ears. They taste better"

"I really don't think she wanted to know that" said Dave. "but he is right you know, that's what they use hem for the Hobgobs."

"I have heard of the Hobgoblin Empire," she said, still out of sorts. "How does he get away with it?" she asked angry and confused. "The city's got a garrison and a temple, why don't they stop him?


End file.
